The Pie
by TeaOli
Summary: Be careful what you eat, Mr. Spock. Complete.
1. Eyes Wide Open

**Chapter 1: Eyes Wide Open**

First, he became aware of a tantalizing aroma. Next, he heard the low hum of whispered voices. Finally, he opened his eyes to see two figures in Operations red and one in Command gold huddled together.

By the table.

The phrase "not fair" and the words "mine" and "last" drifted through the air of the room and burrowed through his befuddlement.

_Ponfo mirann!_ Instantly and fully awake, he sat up.

"Trashu!" he ordered the trio ogling the last slice of pie.

The whispering stopped. Engineer Scott and Ensign Chekov spun to face him.

Lieutenant Uhura did not turn from the table. Or the pie.

"That means he wants you two to leave," she told the Scot and the Russian.

.

.

The two men exchanged fearful glances before spinning around again and rushing from the room. Miss Uhura remained facing the table.

Spock swung his feet over the side of the bed and took a moment to search for the Standard words he needed to say.

"That order pertained to you as well, Lieutenant."

"Oh no, Mister Spock," she replied, without moving except to adjust a wide red strap crossing on a diagonal from her right shoulder to her left hip. "I can't do that."

He eyed the strap curiously. It was the same color as her tunic; he hadn't immediately noticed it upon waking.

"Why not, Miss Uhura?" he asked. The room seemed to spin as he got to his feet.

Carefully, he made his way towards her and the pie.

She turned and he saw that the strap was actually a sling slung across her chest. And it was… undulating.

"I can't take her outside in this cold," the lieutenant informed him.

He took a closer look at the heaving sling and at the tiny cinnamon-colored face latched onto a chocolate-colored nipple, sucking furiously.

The room lurched.

.

.

First, he heard the high-pitched wails reverberating through the room. Next, he became aware of a pounding in his head which almost made him wish he had not regained consciousness. Finally, he peeled open his eyes to see Lieutenant Uhura bending over him.

"Olau tu uf?" she asked in Vulcan. "Weh-rom ha?"

"Rai," he groaned, answering her second question first. "I believe the…kan-bu's cries are making me feel worse."

"Ahh," the lieutenant murmured as she tried to soothe the kan-bu by rubbing its back.

Illogically, she was smiling. "Kusut-patam ha?"

"Ha," he agreed, then switched to Standard. Or at least tried to do so. The words were hard to find through the throbbing of his head. "And it is getting even worse with each passing second. Can you not quiet your… ko-fu?"

Watching her shake her head in the negative made his skaun-sa'haf churn, so he closed his eyes again. The volume of the kan-bu's sobs increased.

"It is your fault," Miss Uhura told him. Fortunately, she continued to speak his native language. "She was content until you fainted. Stand up. Show her you are well, and she will stop crying."

Spock opened his eyes and peered around the not-quite-familiar room.

"I am most certainly _not_ well, Lieutenant," he replied after ascertaining that he was, indeed, lying on his back. On the floor. In a sparsely-furnished room he was not certain he remembered entering.

"_Pretend_," she ordered in Standard.

Her tone implied disobedience would be met with dire consequences.

He sat up. The kan-bu quieted slightly, but not enough to ease his pain.

"I believe there should be a… kusut-nem-tukh with my belongings." Between the roiling in his stomach and the pulsating pain in his head, the Standard word eluded him.

Lieutenant Uhura handed him a hypospray, explaining, "I anticipated the need."

The powerful analgesic began to work almost instantly, and he was able to rise to his feet within seconds. The kan-bu, no... infant — _that was the word!_ — lowered her volume again, but continued to sob in her mother's(?) arms.

Inexplicably, the normally amiable communications officer glared at him. He caught a glimpse of an enticing nipple as she pulled the baby from the sling. She looked up again just in time to catch him staring.

"None of that from you, Mister!" Lieutenant Uhura snapped in Standard. "That's what got us into this mess in the first place," she added in what could only be described as a frustrated mutter. "Here!"

Suddenly, his hands were full of wriggling infant, the lieutenant was hiding the best sight he'd seen since waking up and then… silence.

"See?" The note of triumph he detected in Miss Uhura's voice was reflected in her smile.

Spock raised a questioning brow.

"She's a baba's girl," explained the lieutenant. Her grin broadened.

"Sa-mekh," said the kan-bu. She patted his cheek with a plump little hand.

"Fascinating," said Spock. He examined the child's delicately pointed ears.

* * *

**A/N:** TOS-AU. Translations for Vulcan words and phrases are available at the Vulcan Language Institute Reclamation Project at the Star Trek Online Geekopedia and at the Vulcan Language dictionary.

Division colors (for uniforms) have changed throughout the history of Star Trek; Science has been the most consistent, mostly using shades of blue. For the purposes of this story, I'm using the colors most often perceived in TOS eps.

Disclaimer: I own no Star Trek concepts or characters. I do not profit from writing about them.


	2. Just the Facts, Ma'am

**Chapter 2: Just the Facts, Ma'am**

Spock glanced up from his inspection of the infant's pointed pinnae just in time to catch the lieutenant in the act of taking the seat directly adjacent to the pie. He quickly considered possible diversionary tactics and utilized the first feasible feint he found.

"Superficial examination of the kan-bu," he observed, "suggests that her genome is comprised of a combination of contributions from you and from me."

"I thought Vulcans disdained stating the obvious," she replied without moving away from the dessert.

"Am I to understand from that, and from your earlier exclamation, that this child is… ours?" he asked. "And that she was conceived under.. ordinary circumstances?"

"Didn't I already say that?" She spun in her chair to glare at him again. But almost instantly, her expression softened and a smile with which he was becoming increasingly familiar spread across her features as her eyes lost focus. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call the situation _normal_, but if you're asking if we had sexual intercourse, the answer is 'yes.'"

All too quickly, the smile was replaced with a grimace.

"I take it that you found the experience disagreeable."

"You really _don't_ remember, do you?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder. As he desired a reversal of her previous pronouncement, Spock decided it was best not to be insulted by the implied disbelief. At the moment, the only thing more tempting than the possibility of another glimpse at her delectable mocha-colored thasek-gonak was the similarly-hued delicacy sitting in front of Miss Uhura.

"Miss Uhura," he stated, choosing his words carefully. "I apologize if my actions over the past… "

"Six weeks," she supplied.

".. six weeks have in any way led you to believe that I am not worthy of trust," he continued, rubbing slow circles on the child's science blue-clad back. "I truly have little memory of my behavior and so am unable to assure you that my intentions were benign. Now, however, I believe myself to be fully in control of all my faculties.

"If I caused you injury while my control was… inhibited, I will make appropriate reparations when we return to the Enterprise. And if I failed to perform adequa—"

"Your performance was _more_ than adequate, sir," she hastily assured him . "And as I was, and remain, uninjured, no 'reparations' will be required _if_ we return to the Enterprise."

"If?"

"Mister Spock," she said slowly and calmly, as one might speak to a frightened child, "surely you do not believe we have remained here so long by choice."

He knew that he should encourage her to continue speaking about their extended stay on the planet, but other subjects were more intriguing at the moment.

"While it is obvious that she is as much my offspring as yours, Miss Uhura, given her advanced stage of development, there is much about her — and about her conception — that I still wish to confirm with you.

"You have indicated that we have been on the Maytecin planet for six weeks, and yet our child appears to be the size of a three-month-old human infant, and has motor skills that rival those of a six-month-old. Determining the level of her verbal skills will require further observation, but she is clearly advanced.

"Enlighten me, please… when were you– when did I... ki'viyatal du?"

"Until a week ago, everything about T'Maurja's gestation and growth had been accelerated, Mister Spock," she told him. "She is two weeks old. I was pregnant for three weeks.

"I don't know exactly how all of this works — science is your specialty, not mine — but I think the Maytecis must be learning more about humans… and about Vulcans. I can tell you that her development _has_ been slowing since last week."

Three-score questions immediately formed themselves in Spock's brain, but he realized the communications officer would likely be unable to answer even half of them. _Perhaps she might inadvertently…_

"Perhaps it would be best if you were to start from the beginning of the mission," he suggested.

.

.

"So, even though we were suspicious at first, in the end we had _no choice_ but to eat what they gave us," she concluded.

Lieutenant Uhura stretched, then sipped from a container of water. She had been speaking, with few pauses, for twenty-two minutes and eight seconds. He glanced over her shoulder to the table, where the last slice of pie remained untouched.

"You said that the confections produced with Theobroma _theobromi theobromi_ do not have the same affect on Vulcan physiology as chocolate made from Theobroma _cacao_," he pointed out, shifting the now-dozing baby higher up on his shoulder, "and yet you also say that your experience of 'the best sex in the universe' was a direct result of the food the Maytecis provided for our consumption. I fail to see how that is possible if—"

"It wasn't the theobromatl that got you, Mister Spock," she broke in, glancing back at the slice of "it's like chocolate to the third power!" pie. "They found weaknesses for all of us pretty quickly. For human women, that's Maytecin theobromatl; for you it was the regular chocolate — from Theobroma _cacao_ — that left you impaired enough to eat the pumpkin pie. Well, their version of pumpkin pie, anyway."

Spock came very close to frowning upon learning yet another pie had been involved.

"_Pumpkin_ pie, Lieutenant?"

"Oh yes, Mister Spock. Pumpkin pie. Smelled like the real thing, too." Her eyes lost focus again as she apparently became lost in the memory. "I wouldn't know how it _tasted_, of course. You didn't let Mister Scott, Mister Chekov or me have even one little bite!"

Spinning her chair around, she picked up an eating utensil and held it above the theobromatl pie. Spock surged to his feet. The kan-bu opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"Miss Uhura," he began, "pumpkin is not known to be detrimental the function of Vulcan physiology. It is, in fact, widely consumed on my planet."

The communications officer sighed, lowered her fork and faced him again. "It wasn't the _pumpkin_, Mister Spock. It was the cinnamon. Lots and lots of cinnamon."

A smile he could not quite interpret played at her full lips. "Lots and _lots_ of cinnamon," she repeated in a low murmur.

"I see," said Spock. He and the child watched until Lieutenant Uhura appeared to recover herself and turned back to the last slice.

"If we were all to some degree adversely effected by the foods we have been given," Spock called out quickly, "how can you be certain that I am your daughter's father?"

Her reaction was instantaneous and quite satisfying. Her chair was sent skittering noisily across the floor as she gained her feet with a speed that approached the swiftness he had displayed moments before. When she whirled around to look at him, her face had lost none of its loveliness for all that it was contorted with pique and insult.

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Mister," she snarled. "Just look at that child's ears!"

Spock had no need to do so, as he was — much to the child's delight if the soft cooing sounds she was making were any indication — at that moment caressing the pointed tips.

"You are, of course, correct, Lieutenant. It is exceedingly unlikely that a union between you and Mister Scott or between you and Mister Chekov could have produced such aesthetically pleasing and intelligent offspring."

"Baba," said T'Maurja, "ninakupenda sana."

"And I you, ko-fu," Spock said, delivering what passed for a doting smile to his daughter. The statement, he found, was entirely true. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away to look at an equally agreeable, but less somewhat less… _moving_, sight.

* * *

**A/N: **TOS-AU. Translations for Vulcan words and phrases are available at the Vulcan Language Institute Reclamation Project at the Star Trek Online Geekopedia and at the Vulcan Language dictionary. Translations for T'Marja's Kiswahili can be found just about anywhere.

BTW, Lauren, MJ & Lynn — this kan-bu's for you!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Trek, any of its characters or concepts, but T'Maurja is named after my friends.


	3. An Unrefusable Offer

**Chapter 3: An Unrefusable Offer**

Lt. Uhura stopped frowning at him to cast affectionate looks at their daughter.

_Ah_, thought Spock, _T'Maurja is the key_.

"She's so sweet when you're conscious and on your feet, isn't she, Mister Spock?" Uhura's voice was soft, but lacked the high-pitched overly overly-song-like quality many humans adopted when speaking of, or _to_, children. He thoroughly approved. Such a characteristic would have been untenable in the mother of his child.

"I meant to say that her _disposition_ is sweet — figuratively," she clarified before he could reply to the initial query.

"Yes," he acknowledged in an intentionally dry tone. "I believe you have been far too busy attempting to secure the final slice of my pie to perform such an archaic test for diabetes on T'Maurja."

The baby chortled, her mother's brow furrowed in confusion, and Spock found himself biting back a smile of his own. One look at the kan-bu's delighted — and comprehending — countenance, however, temporarily released him from decades of carefully cultivated Vulcan stoicism.

"A jest, Nyota," he said, but his twinkling eyes — and he knew they were twinkling because he could see them reflected in his ko-fu's matching eyes — were on the infant in his arms. "Ancient Earth physicians diagnosed diabetes by tasting the sweetness of a patient's perspiration."

Uhura's frown deepened. "T'Maurja is in perfect health, Commander!" she protested, slamming her hands onto her hips.

"I can see that," he agreed. "She is alert, happy and," he added in an undertone, "intelligent enough to have caught my reference."

"_Educated_ enough to have gotten your stupid joke," Uhura retorted in an equally quiet mutter. "Something she got from _me_, since _I_ was the one who taught her to read, then convinced you to let her read your science journals." Then she snapped at a normal volume, "And I don't recall giving you permission to use my first name, Mister!"

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow. "I seem to recall that you did."

"And just when did that happen?" She folded her arms under her generous bosom and adjusted her stance, so that one foot was thrust out before her.

Spock found the defensive pose displayed his colleague's form in a distinctly appealing manner. He resolved to further exasperate her.

"I believe it was just before you permitted me to rip off your— "

"You said you forgot all of that!" she accused in a furious whisper. Indicating the little girl, whose head once again lolled against her father's shoulder, with a series of quick jabs of her index finger, she mouthed, _Not in front of…_

"I am beginning to remember now," Spock said, anyway. "My experience with you was similarly superlative to my previous encounters with others."

She took a deep breath, no doubt to unleash a loud lecture on what was and what was not appropriate for discussion in the presence of a two-week-old Vulcan/human/human hybrid with an unquantifiable intelligence quotient, but he was able to halt the tirade by simple expedient of spinning on his heel so that she could observe their ko-fu's face in slumber.

.

.

The need to allow T'Maurja to sleep in her cot — "For at least a couple of hours, this time," the lieutenant promised — was a successful means of drawing his competition away from the prize.

But only for as long as it took for him to place the tiny being in her tiny bed in the tiny room attached to the main room of the small housing unit he apparently shared with Miss Uhura — "But not with Scotty and Chekov. They just keep stopping by to try to eat our pie" — and for the lieutenant to cover the child with a soft blanket and place a gentle kiss on the tip of her ear.

"_My_ pie," Spock whispered as the two of them darted for the door at the same time.

"_Our_ pie," muttered Uhura as she squeezed past him and dashed back over to the table.

"I meant what I said, Nyota," he told her as he came to a halt two centimeters behind her.

Having trapped her between the table and himself, he pressed his advantage, as well as his body — reducing the distance between them to twenty-three millimeters, and reached around her to snatch at the remaining slice.

She grabbed his wrist, ducked under his arm and twisted around to face him — managing to remain tucked between his body and the table when the maneuver could easily have freed her. When she looked up with dilated pupils, her breathing was ragged.

"You really don't want to eat the whole thing, sir." Her voice was low, full of warning and… something he decided he would address later — just as soon as the slice of "chocolate times three" had been safely consumed. His lok, straining against suddenly tight trousers, recommended eating quickly.

"My memory of the last few weeks is beginning to return. The recollections appear to be coming back in reverse order. Last night, the pie" he pointed over her shoulder "was divided into four parts. We were each meant to consume two. This would be your third, but only my second. The final slice belongs to me."

"Regardless of ownership, you _really_ don't want to eat that," she insisted.

"And why is that?"

"Remember, while Theobroma _theobromi theobromi_ is not an intoxicant for Vulcans," she reminded him, "it has an… interesting effect on human women. And because, thanks to Mister Chekov, that pie also contains a healthy amount of Theobroma _cacao_.

"I don't know if you've got enough painkillers left in that hypospray to cure another hangover."

The implications of her revelation were immediately apparent. Spock gently pulled free of the lieutenant's grasp and reached for the pie once more.

"I see," he murmured, holding the dessert just above his right shoulder. "In order to preserve my health, it would wiser for me to allow you to consume the final slice. Although you stated a reluctance to repeat the events of five weeks ago, my greater physical strength is more than enough to dissuade you."

Her lovely lips curved into a smile of anticipation. Her dark eyes followed the food. Leaning to her left, inhaled the confection's rich aroma, seemingly unaware that her breasts were crushed against his torso.

"Oh, I agree, Mister Spock," she breathed. "You are very, very strong."

"However, as our child is still nursing, and as Vulcan children require the closeness— "

"Way ahead of you, sir," she cut in. "While you were… incapacitated, I expressed enough milk to tide her over until tomorrow. Your little girl is three-quarters human; by the time she needs to nurse again, I'll be fully capable of sating her. _My_ liver is able to properly process the chocolate."

When she tilted her head back and she licked those lovely lips, Spock lost what little desire he'd had to approach the distribution of the pie in a logical and wise manner.

"I think, however," he said, running the fragrant wedge along the crease of her mouth, "if we agreed to share, my 'little _woman_' could be sated, as well."

Keeping her eyes on the pie, Uhura took the first bite without even protesting his claim.

* * *

**A/N:** TOS-AU. Translations for Vulcan words and phrases are available at the Vulcan Language Institute Reclamation Project at the Star Trek Online Geekopedia and at the Vulcan Language Dictionary. Translations for T'Marja's Kiswahili can be found just about anywhere.

"Oh noes!" some of you will undoubtedly shout. "Didn't Uhura tell him 'No more az'ir'kh'ar! No more viyatau!'?"

And those of you that do will be absolutely correct. But those of you who read my description of "genuine cold-synthesized Maytecin theobromatl" (in _Entanglement_) will know that few human women can resist its allure.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Trek, any of its characters or concepts, but T'Maurja is named after my friends.


	4. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 4: The Best Laid Plans**

First, he became aware of the scent of leftover meditation incense. Next, he heard the ambient drone of multiple machines. Finally, he opened his eyes to scan the decorated walls of his own cabin.

He was alone.

The regular breathing that had lulled him to sleep and the cool, soft body he had held close in his arms were missing.

_Ponfo mirann!_ Instantly and fully awake, he sat up.

"K'diwa," he whispered, without understanding why, to the woman who was not there.

.

.

Minutes later, he stood impatiently in the small cubicle while the shower sonics cleansed his body of the night's accumulation of dust and perspiration. At first, he wondered at his illogical, and uncharacteristic, desire for haste. When he realized he was listening for a childish cry that would not come, his shoulders bowed under the weight of an even more disconcerting disappointment and defeat.

No tiny female child with pointed ears and Nyota Uhura's smile would be calling out for her baba or sa-mekh.

Shutting off the shower, he stepped out of the cubicle and padded back into the main room without bothering to dress.

"Oh my!" exclaimed a husky feminine voice.

Halting, he acknowledged the warm pleasure that suffused his senses at her unexpected presence. And he exercised considerable control to keep visual confirmation of said pleasure from her inquisitive eyes.

"I guess I dreamed _some_ things just right," she added as she conducted a patently appreciative appraisal of his body from his toes to his chest. "That answers _one_ of my questions."

She swung around in his desk chair to face him fully. Her formerly-embarrassed smile widened considerably as her gaze dipped down again.

_Perhaps_, he thought as he squared his shoulders and stared back at Lieutenant Uhura, _all is not lost, after all_.

.

.

Four hours later, after he had managed to dress himself and convince her — and his swelling lok — that they could no longer delay apprising the captain of their experiences, Spock, Miss Uhura, Mister Scott and Mister Chekov sat in a conference room with Doctor McCoy, Nurse Chapel and a pacing Captain Kirk.

"Couldn't find a thing wrong with any of 'em, Jim," the doctor reported.

"Mental functions for all four appear to be normal, Captain," the nurse clarified. "They've suffered no detectable adverse affects from the…visions."

Kirk stopped mid-stride and clasped his hands in front of his chest. He studied the four members of the "original" away team with an expression Spock could not read.

"In that case," their captain said, his eyes trained on his communications officer and XO, "I don't see how I can let you four go down there."

Uhura was on her feet before Spock could decide whether he was relieved or disappointed.

"Sir, the Maytecis have a complex culture with elaborate customs they expect their visitors adhere to at all times!"

"And you lot did such a good job of that they kept you prisoner for six weeks," the captain observed dryly.

"In our _dreams_, Captain," Uhura shot back, exasperated. "With the Federation demand for cold-synthesized Maytecin theobromatl already astronomical, and growing every day, we can't risk trade negotiations as important as this just because a few of us had some silly dreams."

"Considering the fact that the four of you experienced the same dream—" Kirk began.

"Not exactly the _same_ dream, Captain," Spock corrected, for the moment not caring that he was interrupting a superior officer. Accuracy and precision were sometimes more important than protocol. "While Lieutenant Uhura, Engineer Scott, Ensign Chekov and I all seem to have dreamed about the same period of time, we each experienced the passage of said time from our own perspectives."

The hard eyes that cut from the communications officer to the science officer suggested that Jim Kirk was barely holding on to his temper.

"Thank you, Mister Spock," he gritted out. "Considering the fact that the four of you had _nearly_ the same dream, and that the events you experienced resulted in the _same conclusions_, it would be too risky for me to send you down to the planet together. I'll just have to choose a new team."

"I'll be happy to take Uhura's place," Nurse Chapel chimed in, and Spock wondered, not for the first time over the past two minutes and twenty-seven seconds, why she remained a member of the meeting once the good health of the four dreamers had been asserted.

"That probably won't be necessary," the captain told her, "but thank you, Miss Chapel. I will take that under consideration." He offered her a smile to soften what would likely become a refusal, but waved an impatient hand through the air when his communications officer opened her mouth to interject her objection.

"Uhura, are you going to tell me you _want_ to take a chance on ending up a single mother and giving up your place on the Enterprise just so the dirtside hordes can pay a little less to get their chocolate fix?"

Nyota's eyes widened while her mouth opened and closed again several times before she actually spoke.

"Give up my— ! Sir, do you honestly think Mister Spock would that allow to happen?" she gasped. "Why, that must go against all kinds of Vulcan mores!" She turned imploring eyes towards the first officer. "Tell him, Commander! Tell him we won't end up with a baby!"

Outwardly, Spock was as cool and composed as was customary; inwardly, he trembled at the vivid recollections of his rapturous, albeit artificial, time on Mayteca. And though he quickly calculated the high odds that his answer would prevent him from replacing those mendacious memories with valid visions of time spent with his comely colleague, in the end his Vulcan proclivities spurred him to speak as he must. _He_ had not forgotten what had nearly transpired in his quarters that morning.

"I cannot do that, Lieutenant," he said, sounding slightly sad to his own pointed ears. "Vulcans do not lie."

"She _was_ quite the bonny lass, our T'Maurja was," Engineer Scott sighed wistfully.

Ensign Chekov patted the older man's arm and nodded in sympathy. "Da, Meester Scott. I vill miss her, too."

"You've got three days to get the replacement team up-to-speed on Maytecin mores, Lieutenant," said the captain.

.

.

Spock stood between Messrs. Scott and Chekov as the captain prepared to beam down with an eager Yeoman Rand, a now-reluctant Nurse Chapel — _She should not have offered if she was unwilling_, Spock mused — and a smug Mister Sulu, as Lieutenant Uhura called out last-minute instructions on courteous conduct for Mayteci guests.

The half-Vulcan decided he had made a fortuitous escape as he caught Miss Chapel's longing look. He turned away too soon to see her fawning farewell.

Uhura was animatedly gesturing to the captain's yeoman. The concern on her lovely face caused Spock's stomach to tighten uncomfortably. He took a step forward, but stopped when he heard Rand's loud whisper. "Don't worry about me, Nyo; Doctor McCoy fitted me for an IUD."

.

.

Much as he expected, the Maytecis appeared to have taken the away team captive. The extension of the three-day mission had many of the hallmarks of the shared dreams.

Three weeks had gone by in which communication between their leaders and the Enterprise consisted only of continued reassurances that their colleagues were doing well, and enjoying their time immensely.

While Spock did not doubt the veracity of _those_ reports, he was certain that there was a direct correlation between the dream-time events and what was now taking place on the planet.

On the first ship's evening of the fourth week, he made his way to Recreation Room 7 in search of Lieutenant Uhura. While he needed to speak with her about her analysis of the Maytecin messages, frankly, he _wanted_ an opportunity to enjoy her company outside of Alpha Shift and their weekly lute lessons.

She had just confirmed his assessment of the Maytecin situation when Mister Chekov discreetly approached their table.

The object in the young man's hand was much smaller than the nine point five inches Miss Uhura had assured Spock was standard, but already its heady aroma was having an interesting effect on a part of the half-Vulcan's anatomy that was conveniently hidden by the table.

"I vill bake a bigger vun vunce the keptin returns," the earnest ensign promised. He shook his head. "Cook has plenty of ceenamun in the galley, but Meester Scott had only a small supply of theobromatl left ower from before ve arriwed. I doan know how he does it. Dat man ken get anyting he vants!"

"I'll just bet he can," Uhura muttered under her breath.

"But dah real secret is in dah crust," Chekov went on, oblivious to the look Spock exchanged with Uhura. "I mixed almond paste into dah dough!"

"How you did learn of the pie's preparation, Mister Chekov?" Spock asked, taking care not to lick his lips as the spicy scent of freshly baked theobromatl and cinnamon teased his olfactory organ. And as thoughts of Miss Uhura's legs wrapped around his waist teased his brain.

"I cannot explain it, Commander. I voke up dis morning and dah recipe vas dere in my mind," the flummoxed ensign confided, "and I just _knew_ dat I must bake it to cheer you up. It came to me as if it vere a… a…"

Spock lifted an eyebrow.

"As if it were a _dream_, Mister Chekov?"

"Yes! Yes, dat is eet exactly, Commander!" Chekov beamed at them. He glanced between the two unsmiling senior officers until the implications sank in and his face fell. "Oh."

Uhura took pity on the young officer. "It was really sweet of you, Pavel," she said, reaching for the diminutive dessert. "Let me take that." She gave Spock what humans were wont to call a "speaking look."

"It probably won't hurt to have just a taste," she added doubtfully.

Spock looked from the pie to Uhura's stern face. She was wearing her "be nice, Mister Spock" expression. He had no intention of disobeying. Or of leaving her in doubt.

"No, a 'taste' is unlikely to cause lasting physical harm," he quickly conceded, "but perhaps we should consume the confection in the privacy of my personal quarters. It will make a pleasant accompaniment to our tea following your next ka'athyra lesson."

The chief communications officer's smile shined bright enough to rival their young colleague's earlier grin.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Mister Spock," she said.

* * *

And they lived happily ever after in their house made of gingerbread with their daughter, T'Maurja (who was conceived after Mister Chekov's pie had been consumed).

And when T'Maurja grew up _very quickly_ and married a handsome Russian officer, Spock and Uhura baked and baked and baked until they had enough pie crust to build the young couple a house of their own.

_The End_

Just kidding; that's not what happened.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Star Trek-related. Not even a T-shirt.

Thanks to Aphrodite420, LadyFangs for listening to on-the-spot rewrites, over and over and over without telling me to shut up. And purrs to SpockLikesCats for catching those missing words I'm usually known for.


End file.
